"I desperately wanted to hug this grieving mother, to look her in the eyes and say I understood her pain and was there for her, but she requested that her son’s shoes be left on the front porch step. Inside one shoe, I asked the chaplain to tuck a poem I had written, inspired by this mother’s desire to have her son’s special shoes. This particular poem had crept into my heart when I thoughtfully considered how I might bring comfort to this devastated family. My words poured out onto the paper, flowing from my experienced heart, remembering how a life can vanish in an unexpected instant.
Writing the poem and stepping into this family’s devastation took me to a dark place where I least liked to go—recalling my own son’s death. The accidental death of a child is like a lightening bolt that pierces the heart and changes the landscape of your life forever. When your firstborn child is swaddled and gently placed in your arms, not for a second do you ponder the limited number of years given to this precious life. When my oldest of two sons was born, I never imagined that I’d know Jeff for only nineteen years ..."
